


Touching Hearts

by TiniBopper



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Gen, Weird Plot Shit, Weird writing Style, just general weirdness, now with added art!, weird pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-13
Updated: 2015-02-13
Packaged: 2017-12-12 22:09:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/816602
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TiniBopper/pseuds/TiniBopper
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>She has taught you how to understand them.</i>
</p><p> </p><p>  <i>She has encouraged you, sitting with you and smiling and assuring you that you can learn this. She’s said that it’s in the aspect, and any Heart player could learn to do it, that while it may be hard for you to learn, it wouldn’t be impossible – that she would help you. She has said that once you knew how to do it, then it would be as natural as breathing.</i></p><p> </p><p>Alternate Title: In Which Meulin Directs Nepeta In The Realization Of The Perks Of Being A Heart Player<br/>OR: This Was Supposed To Be Short I Don't Know What Happened</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touching Hearts

She has taught you how to understand them.

She has encouraged you, sitting with you and smiling and assuring you that you can learn this. She's said that it's in the aspect, and any Heart player could learn to do it, that while it may be hard for you to learn, it wouldn't be impossible – that she would help you. She has said that once you knew how to do it, then it would be as natural as breathing.

She tells you to close your eyes, and breathe. She takes your hand, and twines her fingers in your own, and you feel a shiver pass through your nerves – through your mind – before settling in your heart. You hesitate, mean to fall back, to open your eyes and retreat, but she murmurs quiet reassurance and it's so strange to hear her quiet. She calls you little sister and rubs circles against your thumb, and you relax. She softly guides you through the darkness on the backs of your eyelids into the greater darkness, sparked with stars and tiny lights and tells you to look, to approach, to explore.

While bodily you are still, quietly gripping her hand as she traces circles on your palm, in the darkness you can see her, and she is brilliant. Her light shimmers, dwarfing your own, casting a familiar olive glow over your consciousness. You see the steady pulse of the faithful in her light and quietly recognize it within your own. It's strange, and scary, but soothing and familiar.

You bite your tongue.

Her light urges you to go, to explore, that she will keep you safe. You advance slowly, out into the darkness that envelops you like water. You look, and drift, and soak in everything as if it's all yours to peruse.

You know, somehow, that it is.

The lights around you are clear, burning brightly in the darkness, and instinctively you float through the darkness toward one you feel you know. The deep shadowy blue nearly disappears into the darkness when you first look, but it flares in recognition of you. Your light flickers as outwardly you smile, and tendrils of olive and blue twine together intimately in your mind's eye. You feel his strength in his light, and feel the assurance it gives you to carry on. He releases your light with gentle warmth that you know is his smile.

Beyond him you see a similar shade of blue, nervously shifting through the void. You sense the quiet discomfort in the light, as though afraid of the darkness it calls home and that which it is so alike to. On occasion it flickers as if in defiance, and you approach it slowly, considering it. It restlessly flits away from you, wary, until you feel her glow again from behind your force, and slowly it – he – approaches you and lets you examine. Gently, you wrap a tendril of your light in his and he allows it. It isn't the same as the other, the one who protects the other half of your heart until the time that you will give it away, it isn't welcoming or familiar. You pull away, and see her light twine with his and you know in your Heart of Hearts that it isn't welcoming for her either, but whether she acknowledges it or not is not up to you. It isn't your place to interfere, though it is awkward.

You leave the blues behind and flinch, coming under open hostility. The deep red that you've encountered keeps you back, away from it, refusing to let you near. You attempt to go around it and it turns with you, keeping you from moving anywhere, and quite suddenly _you_ are under _her_ inspection. You can't understand this light, can't even get close enough to try, but it frightens you and you want to retreat. The light pulses and you feel the degrading impression of a sneer; she has seen the blue marks on your flame and derides you for it. After some Time, you finally manage to escape her critical gaze and retreat, shaking outside.

Your teacher soothes you with quiet murmurs and gentle hands.

Your light drifts, smaller and weakened, before another dark red and you want to flinch again, but where the other light was cold, this one washes you in warmth. It envelops you, bringing you near, and you feel her smiling sweetly. Where the other light poked and prodded and pulled you apart, this one gently holds you together as you gather yourself, not looking, not intruding, letting you come together again on your own terms. You sense in her the gentle pulse of the protective – you're one of her charges, now, and she is willing to do anything to get you through the end of time itself.

You can feel yourself smiling thankfully as you pull away from her, and find another. A trail of light links him with her and you smile.

The one you've found is a pulsing dark yellow color, and its flame is littered with arcs of red and blue power. You feel him holding you back, but you understand why – this is one who understands what you're doing, who can sense you as he can sense the voices of the imminently deceased. Since you were still relatively recently deceased you find you're still under his awareness and he knows you, knows what you can do. You feel your teacher behind you again, reassuring, Mage to Mage. Reluctantly, he allows you closer. Respectfully, you don't act rashly and are slow to do what you have been doing. You express your wish to do what they can do, to understand, and feel his amusement sparking like lightning through your veins. You can never understand, he insists, not as they do, but he's willing to let you try.

You twine a tiny bit of your flame with a bit of his, and sparks of red and blue dance between them. In him, you can feel the pull of duality, always pushing and pulling like a heartbeat, in halftime with normality. You don't understand how this is so until you remember that he is still half alive, somewhere else out there in the void. That realized, you look closer, beyond the constant pulse, and find the spark hidden deep within him, before he can stop you. You recognize the glint of cynicism for an instant before you realize you've gone too far and pull back, every part of your essence apologetic. He isn't amused anymore. You retreat, and he lets you, and you sense your teacher hurrying to smooth things over.

You can feel her hands beginning to shake – she's running out of energy to follow after you. Your fingers twitch in a squeeze and she understands. When you move on, it is without her.

You come across another tri-colored spark, but this one is a quagmire of broken shards barely held together by the red and blue sparks. You're hesitant, but you inch forward toward him slowly. This one isn't aware of you, barely seems aware of anything, but the one with it is immediately aware of your encroaching mind and drives you back. Her deep teal energy pulses as though you're an enemy and you open your light to her, showing that you have no ill intent. Please let me see, you beg, I only want to look. She impresses upon you in the language of emotions that the one with her is hers to protect and heal. You insist that you won't hurt him.

Your teacher lets go of your hand, and for a moment you feel your focus waver, feel the darkness encroach, but you make yourself breathe and reassert your focus. The teal light is still watching you, full of energy, and when you ask she lends some of it to you with a twist of light. The emotional plane and the lights around you flare into focus again and you smile thankfully. Briefly you feel her grin.

She is vivacious, and he is distant. You realize almost immediately that his mind is what made his heart this mess of shards, and this means that he really is under her jurisdiction. Tentatively you inch forward again, but instead of wrapping your light around his you catch a rogue spark and examine that. He is powerful, he has the same capability as his colormate, but rather than being in control of his own power it's more like his power controls him. When he fights it, it hurts him. You follow the spark back to his flame, touching lightly, barely brushing. The teal energy sparks and you pull away, automatically. Instead, you move to her.

Her energy welcomes you, though it's about as different from your own as it can get. Your light burns with instinct, while hers is calculating. She hides her critical eye behind a veil of open friendliness, but it seems as though nothing escapes you while you're here, brushing against her heart. She values choices, makes those choices when others take too long to make them. Sometimes she enforces those choices that she makes, but still her open demeanor sways the crowds. You learn the impression of her mind and soul, marking it into your being, and pull away, drifting again.

It takes a bit of time for you to find the next soul, the next flame in the darkness, the next Heart. For a while you merely drift, soaking in the cold warmth of the emptiness – your other half's aspect, as familiar to you as your own. You brush through the void between hearts and find another.

Her leafy jade green shade welcomes you warmly, more warmly than you expected. She gathers you forward, and while your first instinct screams at you to hesitate, a smaller, more insistent voice tells you to relax, she means no harm. You let her pull you in, and the warmth that radiates from her could fill up all of space and then some. Nearly overwhelmed by it, you steel your heart and ignore the welcome intimacy she offers. You aren't here for intimacy, beyond the intimacy of knowing her inside and out. Once she realizes, the warmth tones down into amusement and you are free to look. Her light glows with the love of a mother grub, the mixture of amusement and fondness that you're familiar with from Pounce. But it's submerged beneath a cold aloofness, one you've seen from her outside, and the warmth that she greeted you with, a double layer of protection to cover her inner secrecy.

It seems like everyone has them, you realize. She holds you close, fondness radiating from her in a way that seems unlike her, but like her, and you pause. Once you've inched past her protection and into her true heart, she seems fonder of you than she is upset. In fact, she seems proud. Your light flickers, an unsure smile, and you pull away before you can be tempted to go any farther. There are certain boundaries of privacy that even here, you have to respect. Perhaps another time, she offers? You make your essence shrug.

For a few moments you seek out the similar jade flame, but before you can find it another flame finds you. It recognizes the stains of color covering you now, the deep blue and dark red, the yellow, the teal, the jade. She is more amused than you think she should be, but it's clear she knows what you've been doing. Outside of your focus, you feel your teacher take your hand again, feel her seek you out.

Before long, there are three flames sitting close to one another, the brilliant olive flame with only the barest tints of coloration that your flame is colored in, the almost equally brilliant cerulean flame that, even a distance away, seems to have tendrils wrapped around you, and your own essence, small and laughable in comparison. The cerulean greets your teacher warmly, flickering in welcome. Your teacher greets her in kind, and you can feel the both of them smiling indulgently at one another.

Have you taken on a disciple, the cerulean asks, a certain measure of laughter in her soul. You feel your teacher's essence sticking out her tongue and can't help a giggle that escapes you in the outside. It seems like an old joke between them, or an old joke given new outlet, but you can feel their closeness. You know that these two have done this before, have conversed in this way – possibly often. You wonder if perhaps they are leaning toward being moirails? But no, your teacher insists, laughing in her mind although you don't hear her laughing outside. As intimate as this encounter may seem, there are no romantic leanings, pale or otherwise. Both of them have filled redrom quadrants at the moment.

You sit back, still intrigued, and watch them interact for several moments. The cerulean shade is open and sweet, sometimes flickering with nervous energy, but none of it seems directed toward you or your teacher. She seems utterly at ease with the two of you, despite the twittering of thoughts you can sense just under the surface.

After a bit of time talking with your teacher, she turns her attention to you, and you back away half an inch, embarrassed. Even so far away, it feels like she can see and feel all that you're feeling and all that you are and it's strange. It's different than the open intimacy that the jade flame had offered, this is somehow closer, even while she's so far away.

She stretches out a tendril toward you, inviting you to do as you will. Unsurely, you inch forward and wrap one of your own tendrils around hers. The effect is immediate, enveloping you in something total and surrounding, an understanding that is different than that which the two Mages are enveloped in. It has a different flavor, untainted by the sour taste you've come to associate with this game of life and death and creation and destruction. This is a different kind of ability, a gem of understanding that is utterly unique to her. While you marvel at its simple and total grasp around you, you can feel her amusement as she does what you've been trying to do with the others. She understands you, memorizes your essence and then pulls back, letting you try to understand her the same way.

You can't even begin to try to do that.

You know deep down inside that she has already figured you out, found out your secrets and your emotions and every feeling; you know she already knows you better than you know yourself, better than your other half could ever know you. You can still feel her amusement as you try to reorient yourself with the new sensation, and you realize that she is probably this way with everyone, not just you. Your teacher is familiar with her, familiar with this intimate closeness that she holds so naturally when her flame interacts with anyone else's, and assured you that it wasn't intimacy, just normalcy. It must have just been something that she was.

Empathetic, the word strikes you, as your flame flutters away, staggering slightly as it goes. You're overwhelmed and she seems to understand, and she waves you away. Perhaps go find the other Sylph, she suggests, if my brand of light blinds you so.

Yes, you think to yourself, the other Sylph you know. You had been meaning to find her when this one found you. Turning yourself around again, you once more seek out that viridian glow.

This time, you manage to find her. She can't sense you like the other jade flame can, and you can tell right away. As you near, she doesn't take notice. You come close enough to touch, and still there is no response from her. The fussy flickering of her flame makes you think she's probably worrying over one of the friends who survived the chaos that brought you and your other half to death. You twine a tendril of your own flame in with one of hers and smile, willing her calm. Even if she can't sense you and doesn't know you're here, you can feel the way her essence loosens itself and relaxes, melding slightly with your own heart where you've twisted a bit of yours around hers.

You can't do much for your friends anymore, but it helps you to think that you can at least do this much.

Her flame flickers and leaves its mark on your soul as all the others have done thus far, and you sigh with the sensation. You were never very close to her in life, and you highly doubt she ever thinks of you anymore, if she ever did. She has more things to worry about. But you can keep her close, give her shelter in your heart even if she doesn't realize it. You brush through her essence again, feel the fussy mothering nature once more before pulling back and drifting away from her, your thoughts as restless as the rest of you.

Briefly, while you drift, you think of all the friends you had before, and those you have met since you died. You consider the markings marring your flame, putting faces to those you have met. The Heir and the Page of Void, the Witch and the Maid of Time, The Mage and the Heir of Doom, The Maid and the Sylph of Space. The Sylph of Light, the Knight of Mind. You can feel yourself tiring, but there are still so many you haven't seen yet. You haven't seen the other Light and Mind players. You haven't seen your Knight.

You let your energy drift aimlessly, brushing past Hearts you don't recognize. Some of them can sense you, most of them don't. One, you notice, pulses with the same energy you saw in your teacher's flame, and the energy you can faintly smell in your own. Another heart player.

He is faint, far away, and the sweet pulse of instinct seems buried deeply under the cloudy haze of calculation, but it's there. You drift to him, and you know that on some level he knows your soul is near, though he doesn't seem to know how he knows. You drift through the haze surrounding him until you find a brightly pulsing orange glow in the center, smothered by haze but unbeaten and unbeatable. You don't touch him, don't have the energy anymore, you just bask in the glow of his immutable heart. Somehow, in that strange way that he knows you're there, his light gives you strength even as you refrain from taking it.

You let it wash over you and on the outside, you sigh. Your teacher loosens her hand from yours again, and you can hear her shifting until she's behind you. She gathers you into her arms, hugging you from behind, and rests your head against her chest, brushing her fingers through your hair. You didn't think it would be this tiring, this exercise in focus, but you're determined to see it through to the end.

The heart you're resting by has three others close by it, and some of his tendrils seem to gather the three of them close. Two of them burn brightly, cyan and a green not unlike your own. The third is a pretty, bright pink that, though its saturation is high, it still seems quite at home in the darkness. You smile faintly outside as you consider it - a void player, you're sure of it.

Your smile disappears when you realize that, though his heart burns brightly, the cloud of calculation and subversion around him is gathering around them as well, and that it could very easily choke them out. The Void player seems fine but the other two flicker nervously. She watches the Heart player flicker again, as if realizing what's happening, and the cloud pulls back.

Incredible, you think, that he's so aware even when he doesn't realize just what's going on. You brush past the four of them, taking snippets of light as you go, energy restored. He understood their hearts even when he didn't realize he was doing it. You're more determined than ever to do the same.

Your light drifts into a large empty place and you relax yourself, letting it flicker and taking in the vastness of the realm you're in. When you move again, it's in another direction entirely and it's marred by your own instinct. The one you want next is in that direction.

You find her drifting rather like you were a moment ago, and you can see that she's one of the ones who recognizes you're there. Well, well, well, she greets you, and her essence is all sharp points and cackles, but inwardly you laugh right back. You know the routine.

Your flame shifts shape into that of a short furred, long dual-tailed meowbeast and hers shifts to become a long, lithe dragon. Light blows are exchanged as you test the waters, and neither of you mentions how strange this is compared to your usual back and forth encounters. By the time the both of you step back, both of your essences are laughing gaily and marked up with the other's color, hers with your olive shade and yours with even more of her teal. She's openly calculating like her colormate, but while the other keeps her calculations drenched in an open false sincerity, your friend (and you feel no shame in calling her your friend) has a wondrous balance of calculation and instinct. It has the perfect taste to your ethereal tongue, smoky and yet raw, like a fresh kill just starting to cook over the flames.

You express this to her, as best as you can, though you're not fantastic at conversing like this yet. Again you feel the sharp wasteland of broken glass that you associate with her shark grin, but what undoubtedly feels inhospitable to most everyone else is as homely as the hunt to you. You inwardly giggle and curl your flame around her, the long tails of it twisting around her thin form, which twists to accommodate you. You automatically relax as your half-conversation drifts to other things.

After some time relaxing and chatting with her, she stretches her form and you know she's got something on her mind. You offer to listen, the same way as you always have. No pale insinuations, just an ear to talk into. Are you sure we should do that here, she asks? You pause, and it strikes you just what it is you're doing. You have a moirail, she points out, and you inwardly nod. Yes, you realize how it seems, but you have no intent on committing pale infidelity. Especially not with him, not after experiencing what you did earlier.

You struggle to find a way to explain it to her, one tail still wrapped around her and the other flicking nervously from side to side. Somehow it feels more natural for your flame to be in this shape.

He is home, you finally tell her in the language of emotion, he is home and he is me and when I'm with him I am home. Her form flickers as she thinks about it, and after a moment she relaxes again and nods.

She wishes she knew how it felt, but she understands what you mean. That kind of serendipity, she comments, has to be one in a billion.

One in a zillion, you think, with an inward smile. The awkwardness dissipates and the quiet intimacy takes on the feel of a roleplay scenario rather than a pile. She asks you how you ended up here on the emotional plane, and you tell her about your teacher. You run through those you've met already and she asks who else you're going to try and find.

Everyone, you say.

She suggests that you follow one of her soul's links to the next heart. It's someone she's been seeing – the fact comes across with that wasteland of broken glass feeling again – a caliginous suitor that she recently took on. No one knows yet, at least she doesn't think they do.

The glowing indigo light that sparks off of her form makes you flinch back and your feline form hisses. Him?! Your energy is on edge, and she twists slightly to wrap around you again, surrounding you in sharp points but making you relax. Yes, him, she cackles, and he's been getting as good as he gives, I promise.

You let out a growl at the thought of the clown that killed you and your other half, but something catches your attention. While she's talking about him, the flavor of her light shifts, becomes more instinctive. While you adore the raw flavor, something about it littering her flame is _wrong_. But it's not your place to step in, or say anything, so you merely direct the subject somewhere else. Have you always been able to sense this place, you wonder of her? Her flame shakes its head and cackles; it's only happened recently, but I like it!

For a few more moments you relax in the glow of her light, and you can feel your teacher brushing her hands through your hair outside and you can hear her humming now. It's like dreaming, you think to yourself, it's like you're dreaming while still awake; you're conscious and aware of what's going on outside but it doesn't seem important.

You pull away from the teal dragon and purr toward her, tails flicking this way and that, waving a paw before pouncing away. You find the trail she suggested, and though you know who's at the end of it you make yourself remain calm.

The olive glow of your mentor returns and you feel some of your tension disappear. Nothing will happen so long as she's there, you're sure of it.

Outside, you hear her chuckle. She's amused, you're still in your thin meowbeast form. You don't back down, flicking your tail and purring toward her. It feels natural, you insist, and after a moment's pause her flame shifts as well.

You're struck again by her magnificence. She's twice your size, making you feel like a kitten in comparison, and her dual tails are tipped with tufts of longer fur. She has a wild mane of flames surrounding her head, and her snout is at least the size of your entire head. You feel so small, but so happy to have her protecting you.

Her flame bounces around yours for a moment before gesturing for you to lead the way. You continue following the trail, all your muscles tense – she notes it, and intercepts you as you go forward. Is he a predator, she demands to know? You hesitate, but nod. He is a predator. But not just that, he has already been _your_ predator. Her flame flares protectively.

You follow her, directing her on the way down the path, and hesitate when you see two flames in the same shade. Her flame sparks joyfully but you grab hold of one of her tails with your flame form's mouth, holding her back.

What? She turns her head and stares at you incredulously; that was once my mate!

And that's my predator with him, you yowl! You growl around her tail, and she rolls her eyes and pulls it free, bounding forward to greet the two flames. A cold spark goes through your system and outside, your eyes snap open and you push back against her, with enough force to send her sprawling backwards.

Nepeta! she squeals, Why would you do that? I was greeting my former mate!

He's wrong, you yowl, shaking like a leaf on top of her, Something about him is wrong. He is a predator. He is the worst predator, worse than even the one who killed me; he's the steal-nest, the one who inches in and gains trust before killing the former owner of the nest.

You're being foolish, she frowns, You don't know what you're talking about.

No, no, no! You thrash in her arms, but a part of you can already feel when her flame enters the plane again. You feel helpless but you _know_ , you know that somehow she's been fooled by the older Rage player. You close your eyes and throw your focus into the realm again, grabbing hold of her form and wrestling it, trying to hold her back again. Without fanfare, she throws you off and you are forced to retreat, whining.

You leave her behind with the two indigo flames and hope that nothing bad happens to her, and outside you continue shaking against her chest. Your flame is flung through the darkness, and you land before another cerulean flame.

She's aware of you, you know it immediately, and she's so much more powerful than you. You know this one, you know what she has done and what she can do, even in death. You know you stand no chance.

Hahahahahahahaha! She laughs at you, amused that you would have the nerve to come near her this way, and before you can do anything her light is overwhelming you. You're blinded, and the void around you goes even darker, the lights flickering in and out of sight as you struggle to reorient. You can sense her and she's everywhere, and you've utterly lost control.

All the while, she's laughing at you, at the marks all over your flame and your pitiful attempts to retaliate. Ethereal claws and fangs are useless when you don't know where to strike, and you can sense her turning you around even when you do get a glance. You feel pinpricks of pain all throughout your flame but you know she's toying with you.

Every light is gone but the cerulean one that just seems to surround you completely. Your soul cries out for someone, anyone. The light is too bright. It hurts and you don't want to face it anymore.

Are you going to run, little furball? Her light taunts you from all around, sneering at you, and you whimper. If only there were a shadow, a single spot to rest your inner eyes, you wish with all your heart that your favorite shadow would appear and save you.

Begging for the sweaty freak! Her voice is all consuming, and you can feel your anger and panic rising. He's not a freak, you insist, growling at her; your light flares. He's my moirail!

She cackles again, but you've seen it. You saw the flicker of darkness, the familiar shadow, and you know he's here.

Outside, your body quivers; you can feel your teacher shifting, realizing that something is wrong with you. You can feel her panic rising as she realizes you're gone from where she left you to greet her mate. You feel overwhelmed but you know she's searching, on her way. You whisper the name of your mental tormentor, so she can find you.

His shadow grows, and you instinctively move toward it, toward what you know is safety. The light fades, and the darkness returns. You struggle to orient yourself, but you know that his navy glow is between you and her, and you sigh in relief.

She is sneering, but she's backing off. She knows that not even she can face a protective moirail. You quiver as he wraps you in his shadow and shares his strength, and she leaves the scene, leaving a trail of cerulean sparkles behind her. He urges you to stop what you're doing, but you shake and cling to him and shake your head. You can't stop, not yet. You haven't gotten to everyone. There are eight more you want to see.

You're pushing too hard, he insists, and he knows that you're reaching your limit. You shake your head again, determined. These are your hearts, the ones that matter most to you, even if some of them have been less than kind. You want to know them. You missed your chance to do this while alive, you don't want to wait anymore.

Take a break, he begs.

If I break, you respond, I may not resume. Just eight more.

He wraps you close, and you feel his flame brushing like a kiss to your forehead. You nuzzle his flame, and retreat from him. He pulls you close again and a portion of his flame wraps around you, seeping into your own. His strength becomes your own and you sigh happily, knowing that he will always have your back. A tiny bit of your flame forms a diamond toward him, and he returns the gesture before letting you go. If you need me, he murmurs as you pull away, just call for me.

You send a smile his way and bound off into the darkness again.

Your teacher finds you shortly after, her form immense and beautiful once more, and you let her wrap you up in warm olive glow. She tells you she took care of the little Serket, and you purr, both inside and out. You feel her chuckle.

You lead her on, saying you only have eight more you want to see. She tells you not to push yourself too far. You giggle and bound along, urging her to follow. You're fine, you insist, and you know who you want to see next.

The sweet scent of chocolate fills your senses when you find him, and your teacher giggles. He's with the other, you see, but you can see something else too that makes your fur bristle. His flame is littered with cerulean, not just surface barbs but deep running rivulets of blue marring the deep orange brown. Neither brownish flame can sense you, it's apparent, and you're sure he doesn't even realize how deeply she's cut into him.

Your teacher leads you around to them, and you reach out one of your tails to wrap around a tendril of his flame, careful not to touch one of the cerulean scars. Its pulse is faint, and your mind's eye fills with the thought of chains, cerulean chains. You don't know whether to be angry or sad that he's so tied down to her.

His essence is familiar to you, even if you've only rarely spoken with him. It burns with the passion of fire, and flutters with the joy of flight. But you know somehow that he isn't feeling that passion, that joy, not now. You pull back, restraining yourself from trying to change it - it isn't your place to interfere beyond comfort.

You turn your attention to the larger, healthier orange flame and see more scars, but these at least are a different color. The dark red scars along the larger flame seem older, less recent than the cerulean scars on the smaller one. You trace them with your mind's eye before carefully twirling one of your tails around a tendril of flame, imprinting his essence on your heart as you've done with the others.

He's confident, but you can still half-sense an unsurety in himself, something that bothers him to the core. It's an old issue, you can tell, one he's probably been reassured on over and over again, but it's so deeply ingrained that no matter how much reassurance he gets it will likely never go away. You will your heart to pulse in time with his light and look closer.

The image of a gorgeous pair of wings spreads before your mind's eye and you blink. Yes, you know he has wings, but... he's really ashamed of them?

An even closer look alerts you to the fact that he wasn't god tier. Now you're confused - how could he have wings if he wasn't god tier? Was it some kind of trick? A fluke? Or maybe... You pull away as you realize what it is he's unsettled about. The wings are a mutation, one he's had to live with for a long time, and no matter how many people tell him it's okay, it probably will never be okay until he accepts them in his core.

As tempted as you are to help him - as tempted as you are to help all of them, all of the ones you've seen so far - you refrain. Your teacher welcomes you back to her and you can feel her amusement. Who's next, she asks, and you purr thoughtfully.

You tell her who you have left to see, and you can feel her bubbling with excitement as she suggests - no, you immediately shoot the idea down. She knows you too well, knows who you want to see the most of all but you told yourself that you wouldn't rush. Well what about his dancestor, she asks? Again you say no. You're leaving them for last.

She sighs, amused, and rolls her eyes. Well if you must, she says slowly, why not get the worst out of the way?

You know who she's referring to, and though outwardly your lip curls in distaste at the thought, you can see the logic of it. So the worst, you consider, would be...

Oh.

Oh no.

No contest.

You sigh in anticipated aggravation and open your heart farther, letting your essence scent the void around you for that dumb fishy smell. He was your server player, it should be easy to recognise. You find the scent and the hunt is on, your teacher following after you.

The two of you find the elder first, though you're sure you were following the right scent. They're just so similar.

With an annoyed sigh, you decide to get it over with. Thankfully it doesn't seem like he can sense you, at first. When you draw close, however, his flame flickers in something akin to awareness.

He think's you are your teacher, he subconsciously recognizes the shade of your flames. Briefly you wonder how many times she's messed around in his head for him to be familiar with the sensation. She giggles from a bit away, devious and unashamed - you get the distinct impression she's been waxing black for a while and has been taking advantage of this.

Immediately the tempo of the encounter changes, and he's black flirting back - or, it would be back if you were her. You retreat, caught off guard - it's just as strong as the Maid of Space's emotional response had been, in the completely opposite quadrant. Your retreat confuses him for a moment but he barely pauses.

Your teacher isn't interfering - in fact you can feel her amusement, she thinks the entire thing is hilarious. His flame shifts, following your retreat, and you struggle to think of some way to avoid it. You do not want this kind of intimacy, and even if you did you don't want it in this quadrant.

After several moments of cat and mouse, he slows and you can tell you've confused him. He questions, asking for your teacher - you impress back a negative as clearly as you can, no you are mistaken, I'm not her. Little Leijon? he asks, and you breathe a sigh of relief as he realizes.

Wvell shit, he thinks and it's as clear as day, My bad, kitten, thought you wvere my preferred scratching toy. Your teacher puffs up in annoyance behind you and you giggle, and you can feel him smirking slightly as he realizes what must be going on. She showvin' you the tricks'a'the trade?

Yes, you giggle again, surprised at how easy he actually is to talk to when he's not trying to flirt. I take it you're familiar with this sort of thing, you laugh.

Familiar wvith her fuckin' wvith my head and spades, ha, yeah. I take it she's teachin' you imprint stuff right nowv, right?

You nod eagerly, and he readily extends a tendril of flame. Go ahead then, he insists, no harm in lettin' ya look. As you imprint, and open your heart to get a look at his, he adds: if you see anythin' you like, feel free to mention it. I'd be happy to let you in again!

You roll your eyes and make sure he can sense it. Nice try, but I've dealt with my own Ampurra long enough, I don't need a second one flirting with me.

Fine, fine, he laughs; at least the kid has good taste.

You feel your heart warm and outside you can faintly feel yourself blushing. Don't let him fool you, your teacher rolls her eyes, he's a slippery electric eel, once he gets past your guard you're as good as electrocuted.

Awvwv, Mevw, he coos, proving he can at least hear her even if he can't immediately sense her while she's a distance away, I didn't knowv you cared so much.

You can feel her bristling even outside, and you giggle before returning your focus into imprinting his soul's mark on yours. There are scars on his soul, faded marks of color, and sharp points where he had been emotionally hurt. You take a moment to examine the sharp points and the color around them. Always, always it's dark yellow, and you wonder what happened to cause them. A broken friendship? A trauma? You wonder what the elder doom player has to do with it all.

Before you can get a closer look, he gently prods your thoughts away from that venue, and it's clear he doesn't quite want you poking there. Instead, you glance at his personality. He _is_ a slippery snake, and there is a fair measure of believed entitlement there, but you can sense a little bit behind that a subconscious desire burning in his soul to be liked, to be loved. You search briefly for the flavor of his aspect, knowing that it's supposed to be Hope, but are surprised to find no trace of it.

You pull away, blinking in confusion, as he laughs it off. But knowing what you now know, the laughter seems hollow. He is truly without Hope, and that desire to be liked, he knows, is unlikely to ever be fulfilled. You retreat, unsure how to react - you didn't want any excuse to feel sorry for him but knowing that is just... kind of disheartening, even to you.

He goes on, acting as if you didn't see that secret, but something in his flame is different. He's surprised, you managed to catch him off guard, slip in and out again without his permission and under his nose. See anything you like, he asks, still laughing hollowly.

Your soul is just the same as your face, you respond quietly. His flame deflates slightly. Despicable? he asks.

Handsome, if you don't fake it, you reply. Likeable, you add. Again, you caught him off guard.

Really?

Really. You smile reluctantly, pulling back more; I should go, I have more people to meet.

He seems steadied by your words, and his essence nods; Best of luck, kitten. My darkest regards to my lioness.

Go to hell, your teacher snarks, and he smirks before waving you away.

You retreat, and she follows you, curling around you and washing between your ears for a few moments in that dark place. Everyone has little things, she reminds you, things that will make you pity them. But you mustn't let yourself be blinded to their faults.

You shouldn't be blinded by their faults either, you point out, before laughing bitterly, Besides, you're one to talk about being blinded to another's faults.

I don't understand why you don't like him, she gripes, He was my mate, and we were happy together once. Even if we're no longer together, I still like him!

You're too tired to argue, and there are still five more to see. You pull away from her, moving to find the other purple flame, deciding to get this one over with too. If you're lucky he won't be able to sense you.

You find him without fanfare, and he can't. You're quick to get it over with.

He has that same hopeless taste that leaves a bitterness in the back of your throat, but this one is different. While the elder had no trace of his hope left, as if it were stripped away surgically by someone else and destroyed, you can still feel the scattered ashes left behind from the younger's caustic obliteration of his. Scars litter his psyche, pain and guilt and self-despise and regret, and for the briefest of moments you let yourself feel sorry for him. He didn't play his cards right, and suffered for it. You know some of the things he went through but even you are surprised by the depth of his hurt; melodramatic he may be, but he did dig deeper for his emotions.

You will him a modicum of comfort, feeling exhaustion creeping up on you again, and back away from him.

The tattered remains of one of the links his heart once held dear highlight the path you follow next. The bright and bubbly tyrian flame welcomes you, invigorates you and gives you more energy to go on in the last stretch. Her form shifts to that of a mermaid when she sees your meowbeast form, and she giggles contagiously. It's like a dream, she offers, the same thought you had earlier, and you can't help but nod with a laugh. As flighty and often times annoying as she can be, you have to give her credit that she does have a certain amount of understanding.

She offers her tail to you, and you wrap your own tails around it. Another brightly colored stain shifts over your flame, finding an unmarked space and settling. You observe, trying to remain unbiased.

She is passionate about everything she decides she is going to do, to the point of stubbornness and recklessness. The horrorterror's screeches are a lullaby's croon for her and she is fearless of them. She has an immense storage of raw energy.

You take in these facts without flinching, without any reaction. Yes, these were things you knew. You look closer.

The farther you look, the more you see the faint indications of the fact that the Heiress does in fact have scars. You trace thin purple lines and cracked gold ones with your eyes, and it surprises you to know the reasons for them. Her heart has been a battleground, and no matter who won, she lost.

She has had hopes, and dreams, and wishes unfulfilled. It has hurt her countless times, her soul shows, to hurt the ones who fought for her. She couldn't be what the one wanted, and wasn't anything near what the other needed, and she knows it.

At least, you note with no shortage of relief for her sake, she has found a place to belong and something of worth to offer while here, in the dream bubbles. Her connection to the gods gives her a strength here, one you hope she will use to continue growing, even though her Life is gone.

You pull away and ask her where her dancestor is, on this plane. She gives another infectious laugh and her flame lifts one arm, points in a direction. She's off that way, she responds, and I hope you found what you were looking for!

I think I have, you smile, thank you.

And I do )(OP-E we can be fronds now, efin though we weren't while we were ALIV-E!

Fefurry, you smile, I wouldn't like anything more.

You bound off into the darkness again, your soul buoyed up by the pulse of optimism in hers. Three more, you tell yourself. And after this one, you'll be that much closer to the end, and to your knight.

Your teacher bounds behind you, sometimes jumping in front of you and playing with your soul happily. You play right back, though your thoughts are now moved toward your final goal. You know the three who are left. You know the order you'll do them in.

You find the second Thief, the second Life player, and are almost criminally relieved to find that she doesn't sense you. Your last encounter with a Thief was less than pleasant. Your teacher nudges you forward toward her and you move swiftly, grasping a bit of flame and smiling as the lifespring wells up in you again. You don't take much but her Heart is full of it.

She's a critical troll, and you know from your few experiences with her that she is anything but pleasant when you haven't earned her respect, but here she can't hide anything. You're surprised to find a timidity hidden deep behind her outer shell, a pearl of truth - she feels intimidated by the one you just left, for a reason you can't comprehend. Something to do with blood. Beyond that, though she seems not to care too much about those with whom she spends time, you can sense an almost plotting awareness of those she surrounds herself with.

You feel her desires, and the constant forward motion of her soul toward her goals. Her light has a distinct pulse of determination and fearlessness, and you take a small tendril of that forward push to take with you for the last leg of your self assigned quest. When you pull away from her, you can feel your teacher chuckling fondly outside - you think she's talking to someone out there, but your focus is so entrenched that you can't really tell.

You drift for another few moments, listening to the steady pulse of the heart behind your head. You know what you're looking for but also know that you don't have the skill or the energy needed to seek it out yet. You will find it, you know this already, but you will let it find you.

His flame is not as large as your teacher's, but it is no less impressive. It glows with a brilliant carmine flame, which washes over you and wraps around you, soft as wool. He, like several of the others you've met in this realm, knows you're there. He greets your teacher as the Sylph of Light had, with the same warm, open welcome. Another sense of surety washes over you - they do this a lot. They _definitely_ do this a lot. A lot more than she even messes with the elder Hope player.

You're hesitant to approach, knowing that he's what most of the others call Insufferable. You haven't run into him outside personally yet, so you're not sure what to expect. But your teacher gives you a nudge, and you stumble forward. His flame flickers in amusement, and you see a tendril offer itself forward to you. Steeling yourself, you bring yourself to wrap a tendril of your own around it, and almost immediately his fire is _everything_.

He has an honest care for everyone he knows, you see immediately, but he doesn't know the right way to present it. His mutation is something that he doesn't fear to show, something that he's come to accept even if a small part of him still hesitates to embrace it. You can see almost instantly that his insecurities lie in more social deficiencies than in physical ones, and come to understand what makes him 'insufferable'. He is awkward, and if it weren't presented in an off-putting, attempting to be surreptitious way, then it would be endearing. But instead he attempts to hide his insecurities behind soft words that flow together and a shielding of distance they provide.

You slip a little bit deeper, searching for clues to know him, and you're certain that he knows exactly what you're doing and exactly how much you can see because it takes a moment, before suddenly you have access to everything. You're taken aback for an instant by the sheer trust he's putting in you.

With the new insight allowed, you can see that you were correct about your thought that he and she speak like this a lot. The question you had asked between your teacher and the Sylph of Light doesn't even need to be asked between them - you can feel, and you're sure that your teacher can feel it too, even if she won't acknowledge it, the pulse of perfection that lies in serendipity. You recognize it as quickly as you can recognize the feeling between you and your other half, or between you and your Knight, and...

His soul flickers around you, and you know he knows it too.

You know that he knows this feeling of serendipity, and quietly, while enveloped in the folds of his flame, you ask him so that your teacher cannot hear: why?

6ecause she has ch9sen her happiness, you feel his heartbeat impress upon your soul, and wh9 am I t9 9ffer 9r ask f9r what she has d9es n9t want?

You can tell right away that he isn't just talking about your teacher. Timidly, you ask in that quiet, just-you-and-him way again: may I look? may I know?

You don't stop to question why it feels so natural to be enveloped like this, to be this intimate with someone you've never met. You don't stop to question why he's so compliant with letting you look, letting you know. You don't question why you trust him and why you know he trusts you. In short - you don't question the inexplicable bond of cahoots that formed almost immediately between you and he.

He hesitates, but then you feel the warmth of acceptance and you can see his scars. There aren't many, but there are enough, and there is at least one in every color you've come to find so far. There are three that run deeper than the rest, one in tyrian pink with the jagged edges of uncomprehending betrayal and the other two with the smooth indentation of fulfilled unhappy expectations, in olivine green and the familiar teal.

You're not sure how, but you understand immediately what these are from. The olivine scar is from your teacher's disassociation with him, despite the fact that they must have both felt serendipity. You're not able to pinpoint what quadrant it falls under, precisely, since it seems to fall somewhere between red and pale, a beautiful rosy color that warms your soul.

The teal scar is from rejection. While it doesn't pulse as brilliantly with serendipity as the strange bond between him and your teacher does, you can see that it is, as he called his teacher's preference before, his chosen happiness. But the heart he had set his sights on - no, the _mind_ he had set his sights on - had chosen another and...

And he hadn't been ready for the pain that accompanied rejection. Like a domino effect, you see before you the chain of events and your heart pulses in time with his. You understand.

You wait for him to pull away, as some of the others have already done when you find something that isn't easily located within their hearts. But instead, his light just seems to dim slightly as if he's waiting for _you_ to pull away.

When you don't, you can feel his confusion. Instead of answering it, you turn your attention toward the jagged scar, tracing it lightly with your sight as you examine it. You vaguely remember an explanation from the Sylph - he had been a sort of leader, trying to pull everyone together, while the Thief had done everything in her power to pit everyone against each other.

You will him comfort and some measure of healing for his scars, and he wills you a warmth that makes you outwardly smile in what can only be described...

...as joy.

When you finally will yourself to pull away from him, from this lonely heart that is so strange and yet so akin to your own, you brush the sensation of a kiss his way, platonicity and intimacy mixing inexplicably in the gesture. His soul warms in what you're sure is a blushing smile, and he waves you off - You have 9ne m9re t9 see, I 6elieve; the m9st imp9rtant 9ne t9 y9u.

Your teacher inches forward toward him, gathering you up and pulling you away with a chuckle, as if she knows how reluctant you are to leave this kindred spirit. One more, she teases you, nudging you on your way, I'll catch up with you, she insists softly.

You hesitate, but the thought of finally letting yourself find your Knight sways your resolve and you set off without your teacher, leaving her behind with the Seer of Blood and knowing that you're on your own for this. But though you should feel nervous, as every other time you have been left alone thus far has ended badly, you feel nothing but excited.

You drift, letting your soul lead the way along the inexplicable pull of serendipity once more. When you find him, everything that you are warms with happiness.

You know his flame, knew how it would look even though this is your first excursion onto the plane. A tiny flicker of crimson, nearly stifled by the gray haze that surrounds it, but no less brilliant than his bloodmate's. His awareness is like the strange bright heart player you found; he is aware, yet unaware. He can feel that something is going on but is unsure what; he can sense that you're near, but can't tell who you are. The haze deepens around him, a security, but you aren't daunted.

Without hesitation or even a sign of doubt, you drift through the haze that he keeps around him to protect himself. You are a Rogue, and you are used to secrecy in the most fundamental way, even if you yourself were never very secretive. You don't choke on the haze, you aren't stifled by it.

When you wrap a tendril of your flame around his, he flickers uneasily. Outside, you think, he's trailing a strange thought process and doesn't know what to make of its sudden appearance. You smile, and feel your soul warm at the thought.

Who are you? he asks, his mental voice much smaller and more insecure than the loud, determined and often angry voice you had grown used to while alive. In response you open your heart and let all of the love you feel for him surface. Idly, you note that the place where your flames mix turns a lovely rosy pink.

His soul shivers, as if overwhelmed, and you can feel his confusion. Someone who loves you, you answer his question, someone who has loved you furefur and a day.

Maybe it's the cat pun, but you feel his soul surge in recognition, and feel him tense. N-Ne... Nepe...ta...? You will him to feel your smile, and feel the sadness that he feels. What is this? he asks, and you gently prod his thoughts in a direction to explain everything. You quietly suggest he close his eyes, and ask that he let you try something.

You can feel his hesitation, but you also feel when he complies, and shift your inner flame to a shape he would recognize - a shape rather like your trolloid form, made of gentle olivine soul energy.

You reach a hand forward and twist a bit of his flame in between your fingertips, and as you do so the mist drifts close to the flame. The tendrils you brush against shift against your hand, elongate into thin, bony fingers that you know have callouses in the waking world. The fingers attach to a hand, which attaches to an arm, and before long you see him standing before you on the plane, pulsing crimson hidden under a silvery gray mist that hovers close to his form.

What is this? he asks again, and you smile at him and gesture around, before gesturing to your self. Hearty thing, you reply with a laugh, still holding onto his heart's hand. It gets better, you murmur with a fond smile.

How? he asks. You tighten your fingers around his and suddenly he's tensing again, this time in wonder as you prompt your hearts to imprint on one another. You know the feeling of serendipity intimately, and barely give a sigh of happiness when you feel it wash over you, but you know immediately that it's a new sensation for him and he isn't sure what to make of it.

You gently open up, letting him see all that you are and all that you've come to be, in hopes that he will do the same. You don't expect him to, but you still hope that he will. Letting him see everything is a risk, you know, but for him it's one you're willing to take.

Instances that shaped you into who you are today pop to the forefront, from happy days like the first time you talked to your other half and felt that feeling of serendipity, to the days of pride like the first hunt you managed to down a mother cholerbear on your own, without Pounce's help, to days of fear and agony such as the unsurety that riddled your first in person meeting with your other half, and the pain that came when he accidentally broke your spine. You show him the moment when you debated whether the instinct you had felt was worth forgiving the agony, and you show him how that moment was steeped within the very agony that you were trying to forgive.

You show him flashes of what it felt like when he fixed your spine, how it felt when you first felt your tail and when he explained what it would do from now on. You show him how you grew up fairly socially inept when it came to other trolls, and that even with the help of your other half, you still reacted catastrophically when you had your first conversation with someone else.

That someone else, you recall fondly, had been the fearless dragonydd legislacerator-to-be that, though you had gotten off on a rough start, introduced you to an easier way of chatting and eased you into what became your most comforting way of conversation. You show him the sensation of perfection and serendipity that surrounds every one of your feeling jams with your other half, though the jams themselves are kept private, and you think he's starting to understand what this feeling means.

You don't say anything about it, unwilling to pressure him, and if he realizes it, he says nothing. Instead, you squeeze his hand and gesture around. This is my place now, you smile, and I'm happy to share it with you.

He shifts uneasily again, and you loosen your hand to play with his fingers in a gentle, amused fashion. You're glad to just get a chance to share this with him.

Keep going after her, you finally murmur when the silence grows too awkward. He jolts in surprise and no subtle measure of guilt, and you smile, letting go of his soul's hand. You chose your happiness, and I can't fault you for that. Besides, she's still around and I'm...

But I...! he trails off. You're not sure if he even knows what he was going to say. But, _this_... he tries again, not getting any farther. Why didn't you _say_ anything? he finally settles on.

Instead of immediately answering with words, you will him happiness and smile sadly. Because, you murmur, when you love someone enough, it doesn't matter if it's someone else making them happy. Y-You just... you look away, ...you're happy that they're happy.

But I could have been happy with you, he says, and you're shocked to find that he means it. Instead of letting him dwell on it, your heart's hand brushes against his chest and you brush away the thoughts. Could have, should have, would have, you murmur, all mean the same. Didn't.

But-

No buts. You smile sweetly, I'm happy enough having these moments to be with you like this. Keep living, Karkat. Keep fighting, and keep moving forward. After all, you add with a sad smile, the Heart's job is to keep Blood moving. Just because mine stopped doesn't mean I'm going to.

You pull away from him, despite his protests, and pause as you consider him with a fond smile. But before you can do much more in terms of enjoying this moment with him, you sense something amiss.

The Thief of Light and the Page of Breath flicker through your consciousness as something happens that draws them even closer together, briefly. They return to normal a moment later, but then the half-soul of the Mage of Doom you know of dissipates, as does the hopeless twinge of the Prince of Hope's soul. You know time moves quickly in the bubbles and can sense that something big is going to happen in the next few moments for you. As the Witch of Life's soul disappears from your awareness, you hasten your actions.

You turn back toward your Knight, and grasp his heart's hands again, Be happy, you urge him, Be happy and I will be ha-

The jolt echoes through your system and you gasp outside, your teacher's arms disappearing from around your waist and your eyes jolting open. Someone else is sharing your mind, and if you weren't already so used to the sensation it would be traumatizing. But you recognize her, and you realize that the next part of the journey has already started.

A quiet sadness echoes through your soul, where it isn't mingled with the tyrian pink of the Witch you have come to know. You didn't even get a chance to say goodbye to your meowrail.

But then your eyes light on a pair of brilliant pink ones, and you sense the shadowy tendrils of void mixed with the familiar quiet power of the Rogue class, and you can't help but smile.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I did change the publication date on this just so people could see the ART I MADE IN PAINT for a title opener.


End file.
